Today I intended to run a short 10 km run. But I ended up running 21 km, mostly through trails that ran along a decent sized creek. It was too tranquil to stop running. I beat the shit out of my legs running up and down hills, and it was awesome. After some solid uphills I got to glide down 5 km of downhill on roads on the way back to my car... which I subsequently couldn't find and ran around for a kilometre trying to figure out where it was. Such a beautiful night for a run. Reading break is coming up soon. I think I might do a massive run that week, and it will kick ass.
When I run I forget where I am, I forget the troubles of the day, I forget about the person that I no longer want to be; I leave the person I am ashamed of in my shadow as I run. Every moment I run is a new moment of Zen like enlightenment, pure quality.
My muscles ache, screaming at me that they’re not willing to go on, so I run further. My toenails fall off or turn black, but I don’t notice. My muscles cramp after hours of running, but I push through it and it goes away. I see the mountain, it may get the best of me the first time perhaps even the second or third time, but I kick that mountains ass eventually; I make it my bitch. I feel the pain through my body as I run further than I should, I ignore it, and then I conquer it and I glide. And then I push further, and harder; one peak turns into the next. And I overcome. Zen.
I see my breathe in the cold night’s air, and I see me. The hair on my arms stands up as I get goose bumps, and I feel me. My breathing makes a steady beat as I run, and I hear me. The sweat pours down my face, and I taste me. When I run through the mountain trails, I smell the world as it’s meant to be. As I run past the deer in the mountains at night they see me, and they don’t run from what they see. And I get to know my body. Zen.
As I run, I fly. When I push my body past the point of comfort, I fall back into the rhythm of what feels natural and I push harder. With less effort I kick harder, my feet feel the force of the unnatural pavement even less as they spend more time in the air. Free from the constraints of what I am forced to be on a daily basis, I fly. As I spend more time running, I become more able to fly, spending less time on the ground. Less and less restricted from the processes of itself, my body savours the moment. My normalized body tells me that I cannot run this far, that I should not do this; but I will not listen. I choose to fight the normalization. And I reconnect with my body. Zen.
When I run, I can run on anything. Running through mud, I feel it and my muscles know. My gait adjusts to whatever I require; be it gravel, pavement, rocky mountain slopes, puddles, sand. I can run on anything and my body will carry me through it without flinching. And I know my body will take me wherever I make it go. Zen.
As I run, I reconnect with my senses. I recollect The Form of Neil that I forgot. My body reminds me that there are no limits, that there are no bounds, normalization is not natural. And I remind myself as I run. When I am weary, I run and show myself that weariness is nothing more than an external standard placed upon me; and that my body will not accept weariness. When I think I am incapable, my body will show me that yes, I am. When I think that a distance not doable, my body will take me there. When I think there is no reason to smile, I am reminded that I am aware of myself and I smile. My body opens the door to connecting with my Form. Zen.
Drivers try and run me down when I run, and they wave at me and tell me I’m number one. And I know I am loved. Zen.
I’ve met my hero. And he is me. So I smile.
Zen.
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